Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TOUSSAINT L'OVERTURE: HIS PRIME, by GEORGE CLINTON ROWE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TOUSSAINT L'OVERTURE: HIS PRIME, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The years pass on, and overhead
Last Line: A nobler man!
Subject(s): Toussaint L'ouverture (1743-1803)


The years pass on, and overhead,
Portentious clouds of fear and dread,
Obscure the sky!
No ray of hope for bondmen sad,
"Whom gods destroy they first make mad!"
Then seize their prey.

In seventeen hundred ninety-one,
Mid-August at the set of sun,
There suddenly
Appeared upon the evening sky
A ruddy glow; we hear the cry --
For liberty!

The horror of those days, no pen
Can tell, of children, women, men,
Hurried to death!
The masters tortured, shot and burned;
The slaves their hideous crimes returned;
The very breath

Of realms infernal filled the air!
Nor cry, nor groan, nor pleading prayer,
Could stay the hand
Of violence, 'twas deaths maelstrom!
It seemed indeed the day of doom
Throughout the land!

From peaceful toil to take his place,
As the deliverer of his race
Toussaint came forth.
This is the man of prophecy,
Who, for a noble destiny
Was given birth!

A leader-born, in manhood's prime,
Called to command in God's own time,
When there was need;
Large-hearted, pure, magnanimous,
His policy was glorious,
With noble deed!

Yes, 'twas Toussaint L'Overture,
Who boldly opened freedom's door
To Afric's son,
Who met the men of Britain, Spain,
In war-array, on hill and plain,
And nobly won!

New laws are made, and order reigns;
No more the clank of servile chains;
But far and near,
With one accord -- "Our Governor,
Shall be Toussaint L'Overture!"
From all we hear.

This man is chosen for his life,
To govern Hayti, freed from strife,
And takes his place,
Among the rulers of the earth.
Destined to rule e'en from his birth!
Again we trace!

In eighteen one, great Bonaparte,
Proud conqueror with a treacherous heart,
Sent forth the word;
"That slavery in the Colonies,
And in the French Dependencies,
Shall be restored!"

Now consternation everywhere,
And maledictions fill the air.
"For liberty!
We'll fight until the latest breath!
We'll fight for freedom unto death
Or victory!"

'Twas all in vain! The Frenchmen found
On St. Domingo's battle-ground,
And Hayti's field,
A foe they could not overcome;
They fought for freedom and for home!
They would not yield!

Le Clerc in disappointment sore;
His troops discouraged, more and more,
Issues decree:
"Each one who will refuse to fight,
Shall have all privilege and right!
He shall be free!"

Deceived; his [Toussaint's] brother Paul withdraws;
Bellair, and gallant Maurepas
Submit to France!
But brave Toussaint his aid-de-camps
Valiant Christoph and Dessalaines
With sword advance!

A solemn message is received:
The wise Toussaint is not deceived,
But fear awakes!
To pacify his followers,
With chief of Frenchmen he confers,
And treaty makes.

"Submit, and truly, I declare,
Shall rights and freedom everywhere
Respected be!
In rule my colleague thou shalt be;
Full rank, and general amnesty,
And lenity."

"I might in mountains still remain,
And harass thee on hill and plain
With brigand's shield;
But constant bloodshed I disdain!
I fought our freedom to maintain!
To terms I yield!"

A letter couched in language fair,
Invites our hero to repair
To Brunet's home:
"Your welfare and the colony,
My highest pleasure e'er shall be;
Believe me, come!"

Without a thought of treachery;
Trusting in his sincerity,
Nor doubt, nor fear;
For love of country he goes forth,
To treachery's hand, this man of worth,
From freedom dear!

Received with honour and respect,
Naught but good-will could he detect --
A noble part!
His host examined heartily
The interests of the colony,
With map and chart.

'Tis evening's hour, when suddenly
Armed men appear, and forcibly,
Before he wist,
They seize the veteran with the word:
"Surrender! Death at point of sword
If you resist!"

He rose to meet them in his might!
'Tis useless -- an unequal fight!
No help is near.
Such are Injustice's cruel laws!
"Heaven will avenge my righteous cause!
My God will hear!"

'Tis midnight. With his wife and child,
Breast raging with a tempest wild,
A storm of grief;
Chained -- manacled -- the guards beside --
Toussaint is hurried o'er the tide,
Beyond relief!

Without a charge or just complaint,
To Castle Joux they bear Toussaint
A captive lone,
Upon the verge of Switzerland,
On Jura's height the castles stand
On summit stone!

Reduced by peril, hunger, cold,
By longings that can ne'er be told;
With failing breath;
He bowed beneath the heavy rod,
With perfect trust and faith in God,
And slept in death!

A warrior true of great renown,
A hero, martyr, him we crown!
He led the van!
His heaven-born soul to God has flown!
This world of ours has never known
A nobler man!





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